


Under Pressure

by lickmymccracken



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lickmymccracken/pseuds/lickmymccracken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pressed for time before a concert, Bert and Gerard still seem to make time for themselves-- or well one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Pressure

“Ten minutes!”

Some tech guy was yelling and Bert had his hand over Gerard’s mouth to keep him quiet as he passed by two more times. Gerard’s breath was hot against his palm, and the back of his hand coming from his nose. The older man let out a half grunt-half sigh and pinched the salty skin of Bert’s palm between his teeth and Bert hissed in reply. “Okay, okay, I think he’s gone.” Bert sighed, removing his hand from Gerard’s face and kissed him, immediately getting back to where they were.

The two men were in the green room, praying that the chair wedged under the doorknob was enough to keep people out. Bert’s hand was still wrapped around Gerard’s cock, his black jeans pushed down doughy white thighs. Bert loved it when Gerard didn’t wear boxers during concerts. He knew that I made the older man more sweaty and he had a serious case of swampy dick even without the boxers, so when he wore them during a performance, it smelled bad enough for even the infamously dirty Bert to tell him to take a shower. Gerard grunted and twitched his hips up, snapping Bert out of his trance and back to his dick.

Their tongues mingled together, sloppy and wet, the taste of beer fresh in both of their months. Bert jacked off Gerard slowly, making his grunt and whine against his mouth, biting down on the younger man’s lip every time his calloused thumb ran over his over sensitive tip. “’ ‘p fuckin’ ‘round.” Gerard gritted out, gasping into Bert’s sweaty neck when he squeezed around him.

“More?” Bert asked rhetorically, but Gerard nodded. The younger man’s wrist quickened and then stopped for Bert to spit into it more, then skillfully picked up it’s pace again. Gerard moaned freely into Bert’s neck. Bert bit the shell of Gerard’s ear softly. It was far from uncommon for these preshow quickies to happen for the two men, but this was cutting it close even for them. The tech guy was coming back around yelling that it was five minutes before stage, and Gerard was whimpering in Bert’s ear that he needed “More, more, B—Please.”

Bert quickly slid off the couch onto his knees and put himself in between Gerard’s spread legs. He tugged his pants lower so they were below his knees and Gerard could open his legs more. Gerard kept making these obscene little noises, and Bert could hear him licking his lips and panting above him. He could hear the way his jaw was slack and his eyes went between squeezing close tight and staring down half-lidded at Bert. He could hear his heart beating through that stupid fucking bullet-proof vest, his pulse in his bicep under that dumb arm-band. Bert’s eyes slipped closed as he wrapped his mouth around Gerard’s tip and hollowed his cheeks before dipping lower.

Gerard always made the best noises when Bert gave him head. Perfect little _Oh_ s and _Fuck_ s and other cusses with the same intensity and drive. His hips twitched under Bert’s head and he had to hold him down. Any other day, Bert would let his lover fuck his throat, he knew how much Gerard loved it, but they had to sing tonight—fuck, 3 minutes?—and that wouldn’t do too well with his already scratchy vocal chords. Gerard’s hand tightening in the greasy mess of Bert’s hair and pulled a bit. Warning sign number one; Bert bobbed his head a little quicker, flicking his tongue over the tip as he went up. “Shit.” Gerard said loudly, as if he were having an everyday conversation. That was warning sign number two. Bert’s hand moved up to rub at the inside of Gerard’s thigh, feeling the muscle start to tighten and twitch. He dipped lower and Gerard let out a small whimper before pushing his head back into the couch and releasing into Bert’s mouth, the muscles in his stomach contracting and twitching before relaxing as he melted into the couch.

Someone pounded on the door and tried the knob. Thankfully the chair was working to hold it in place. Bert quickly helped Gerard back into his jeans, watching him wiggle and jump as he pulled them back over the swell off his ass. Bert fixed himself in his shorts, still completely hard, and Gerard took notice. He frowned a bit and snaked his arm around Bert’s waist, kissing him on the cheek softly. “I’ll get you later.” He promised before they left, a huge grin plastered to Bert’s face.

The two men ran on stage, the rest of their bands already behind their instruments, playing together and waiting impatiently for the front men. Gerard yelled into his mic, getting the crowd roaring, and then introduced Bert. The crowd quieted a bit and Bert spoke with his grin still on.

“This song was originally recorded by David Bowie and Freddie Mercury…” The crowd screamed and Bert looked at Gerard and laughed. The older man laughed too and stood back.

“And this song is dedicated to Vanilla Ice…It’s call Under Pressure.” 


End file.
